Soaring
by Shadowed Shinobi
Summary: Charlie Weasley realized early on that there were some things in life that were beyond control. Dragons were one, when they chose to be. Feelings were another. He never would have chosen to fall in love with Oliver Wood. It just happened.
1. A Rough Takeoff

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. But I do have a copy of each of the books. Does that count for anything?

* * *

**Soaring**

Chapter One: A Rough Takeoff

_April Sixteenth, 1991_

"Hello, Charlie!"

Charlie Weasley spun around only to see his brothers, Fred and George. Before he could reply, they swung their arms around his shoulder and led him, stupefied, out of the room. The trio eventually made their way to an abandoned classroom. The twins proceeded to plop Charlie down into a desk, all the while wearing identical Cheshire Cat grins.

Charlie finally found his voice again, getting over the shock of being forcibly dragged from the common room, down three flights of stairs, through two secret passageways, and into a doorway pretending to be a wall. "What the hell are you up to, runts?" he growled in an uncharacteristically menacing fashion.

The twins' smirks widened. "Charlie," cooed Fred.

"Dear, sweet, loveable Charlie," simpered George.

"Older brother whom we adore and admire so much,"

"Our valiant Quidditch captain and all around awesome guy,"

"We know your dirty little secret," they said in unison.

Charlie merely stared at them, completely nonplussed. "Well, that's rather impressive of you, considering I wasn't aware that I had a bloody secret."

The younger Weasleys winked simultaneously. "Oh, but you do, dear brother," George practically cackled.

"A big one, too."

"I'm just surprised it took us this long to figure it out, Fred."

"Well, we can't exactly be blamed for that. You know, I don't think he even realizes it."

George peered at Charlie, studying him intently. "I think you might be right, Fred."

"Does that mean we have to point it out to him?"

"Yes, oh wonderful twin of mine. I believe that that is exactly what that means."

They exchanged a determined nod before looking back at Charlie, who was now thoroughly annoyed. "What are you going on about? Merlin, you drag me halfway across the castle and can't even be bothered to include me in your rubbish conversation."

"Charlie, you might want to sit down for this," warned Fred.

Ignoring Charlie's roar of, "I AM SITTING, YOU TWATS," the twins continued to look at him in an unusually solemn manner.

George began, "Now, this may come as a bit of a shock to you, Charlie dear…"

"Just know that it doesn't change the way we feel about you, but…" continued Fred.

They paused dramatically before unanimously and earnestly announcing, "You're gay."

Charlie blinked. Then he blinked again. After blinking several times more, his brain finally confirmed that there could be no mistaking what his brothers had just said. His brain then decided that it would be prudent to laugh hilariously right about now. And so he did. "You… you think I'm gay?" be managed to choke out in between bouts of laughter.

George and Fred remained solemn. "Yes we do, Charlie old boy," stated George.

Charlie fought to keep down another fit of giggles as he rolled his eyes at his wayward brothers. "And what, pray tell, would lead you to that conclusion," he questioned.

Fred sighed. "You're eighteen, Charlie, and you haven't had a girlfriend."

"About to leave Hogwarts forever, and you haven't shown the slightest bit of interest in any girl in the school." George shook his head.

Charlie quirked an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest as he did so. "And this makes me gay, does it?"

Fred nodded. "Yes, yes it does."

"'Fraid so."

"Pity, really."

"Definitely. How're you going to produce your share of the seventy-three grandchildren Mum expects to have if you like blokes?"

"I won't… I'm not… I DON'T LIKE BLOKES!" Charlie practically shouted.

Fred offered his twin an exasperated look. "Methinks he doth protest too much, eh Georgie?"

George nodded in assent before returning his gaze to Charlie. "Honestly, bro. We don't care that you like guys. And you do," he continued, steamrolling over Charlie's indignant protests. "We've seen the way you look at some of the boys in the changing rooms after Quidditch. Not creepily or anything like that. You just look with a bit more interest than most people would consider normal. I doubt you even realize you do it. There's absolutely nothing wrong with feeling that way, Charlie. We just wanted to let you know that we don't care and we love you just as much as we always did."

"Plus, we'd like you more than Percy even if he nailed a hundred girls and you shacked up with some foreign bloke who smelled like Ron's sweatsocks and only spoke Gobbledegook," added Fred.

Charlie just looked at them helplessly. "What do you two know about this sort of thing? You're twelve! Do you even like girls yet?"

"We're thirteen, thank you very much," sniffed George.

"And we happen to like girls plenty, thanks. I've already decided that I'm going to marry Angelina Johnson someday, and George is going to be our butler! And we're going to live in a twelve-story, violet-colored ranch home, and breed fire-breathing hedges and juggling gnomes, and –OW!" Fred swore and rubbed his left foot where George's had just made contact with it.

"Anyway, back on topic. We know because we're your brothers, and we make it our business to know everything about everyone in our family all of the time –remind me later and I'll tell you a funny story about Percy and the ghoul in the attic. But you'd know it too, if you were us and we were you. It's a lot easier to figure things out about other people than to figure things out about yourself," George said with a sagacity surpassing his years. He offered Charlie a small smile before tugging Fred gently by the arm, indicating that it was time for them to make their departure.

Charlie sat in that empty classroom for what seemed like ages, thinking about all that the twins had said.


	2. The Importance of Teammates

Chapter Two: The Importance of Teammates

_August Thirteenth, 1991_

"Bill… can I talk to you about something? Something kind of important?"

The eldest Weasley child glanced up at Charlie in slight bemusement. That was to be expected, Charlie supposed; the brothers talked often, and Charlie preceding their discussions with a hesitant inquiry for permission to speak was a step away from the ordinary. Nevertheless, Bill walked over and perched himself on the edge of Charlie's bed.

They were sitting together in the room they had shared their entire lives, up until Bill went off to work in Egypt a couple of years back. He was home on vacation for the time being, but he would leave again soon. The room would then be empty because Charlie, having recently graduated from Hogwarts, was soon to take up a position studying dragons in Romania. The thought that his childhood was definitively drawing to a close saddened Charlie greatly. However, that was not what he wished to discuss with Bill. He fidgeted nervously, unsure of how to begin.

Bill, noticing his brother's hesitancy, furrowed his brows. "Are you all right, Charlie? I haven't seen you this nervous since Fred and George threatened to tell Mum that you were the one who had smashed Aunt Muriel's vase when you guys were tossing a Quaffle around at her house last summer," he said, worry evident in his voice.

Charlie gulped and shook his head weakly. "No, there's nothing wrong… or maybe there is. I don't know! I'm really confused… Damn Fred and George!"

Bill looked slightly taken aback by this incomprehensible flow of comments. "Did… did Fred and George do something to you?" he asked slowly.

Charlie again shook his head before dropping it into his hands with a groan. He seethed, "They didn't do anything, but they did!"

"I hope you realize that you are making absolutely no sense, Charlie."

A deep sigh racked the younger Weasley's body. "A couple months ago, the twins told me... they told be they think I'm gay because I've never had a girlfriend," he mumbled, a flush spreading across his cheeks.

Bill rolled his eyes and patted his brother on the back sympathetically. "Don't listen to a word they say, Charlie," he said bracingly. "I'm sure you'll meet plenty of pretty girls who'll fancy you when you go out to Romania. You'll find one you like, get married, and contribute to that horde of grandkids that Mum dreams about. You'll…" He trailed off as he saw Charlie shaking his head once more.

Charlie stared intently at the bedspread, picking at a feather that was poking out of the navy fabric. "That's not the problem," he whispered. "The thing is… I think I might be."

Another look of confusion. "Might be what?"

The blush on Charlie's face deepened until his cheeks were redder than his hair. "I think I'm gay," he confessed, looking desperately up at Bill fore some sort of acceptance or guidance.

Bill let out a long, slow breath. He stared at Charlie, his expression unfathomable. "Are you sure, Charlie?"

Charlie nodded meekly. "I guess I always have been. I just never wanted to admit it to myself, you know? A part of me always though –and still thinks, I guess –that being this way makes me sick. Unclean," he muttered.

Suddenly, Bill reached over and pulled Charlie into a gigantic, brotherly hug. When they pulled apart, Bill smiled softly at him. "Being different doesn't make you sick. Just makes you interesting, is all. Not one of us will think of you any differently because of it."

Charlie wiped his eyes, which had inexplicably begun to water. "That's what Fred and George said," he admitted quietly.

Bill laughed and said, "Well, what do you know? They can have their moments of brilliant insight, I suppose."

Charlie chuckled in return, his soul feeling a thousand times lighter after Bill's wholehearted acceptance. They continued to talk late into the night, laughing and joking. Bill offered to set him up with a guy he knew from Gringotts, to which Charlie replied with a snort, a tossed pillow, and a comment somewhere along the lines of 'I have standards that probably surpass anyone who would deign to work with you, Billy dear.' Eventually the pair settled down into their respective beds and extinguished the lights with a swish of their wands.

"…Charlie?" Bill's voice broke the silence that had settled over the room.

"Hn?"

"Thanks for telling me."

Charlie's smile couldn't be seen in the inky darkness, but it was audible in the contentedness in his voice. "Goodnight, Bill."


	3. Meeting Your Opposite

Chapter Three: Meeting Your Opposite

_August Twenty-second, 1994_

The air was practically buzzing with exhilaration. The loud hum of laughter and celebration was occasionally disrupted by an even louder display of jubilation. It was infectious; Charlie Weasley couldn't help grinning himself. Although he had no particular allegiance to either the Irish or the Bulgarian Quidditch teams, he was glad that the Irish had won. That's who most of his family had been pulling for, and it was good to see them all so happy. The match itself had been incredible, of course. As a former Seeker himself, Charlie could fully appreciate the talent exhibited by the players on both teams, particularly the Bulgarian Seeker, Krum.

He was pulled from his peaceful musings by a loud shout followed by a burst of laughter from his brothers. He turned to see that Fred had somehow grown a coat of feathers, probably due to something that George did; the other twin was chortling more heartily than anyone else. Charlie shook his head half-amusedly, half-exasperatedly. He turned to his father and said, "Dad, I think I'll walk around the campsite for a bit. Check out some of the festivities."

Listening only slightly to whatever his father said in response, Charlie strolled out of the tent. He made a beeline for the Irish section, knowing that that was where the best parties would be. Once there, he was not disappointed. Leprechauns went about showering the area's occupants with fake gold, someone had set off a crate of rather extraordinary fireworks that changed color and form every few seconds in time with the Irish national anthem, firewhisky flowed from tankards set up at regular intervals around the campsite, and there were witches and wizards every few feet who looked in general as though they were having the time of their lives.

Charlie merely drifted in and out of different groups for a while. He occasionally spotted someone he knew from back at school, but those conversations dried up quickly. He realized how he'd failed to really keep up with anyone since he left for Romania. What was worse, he couldn't really bring himself to care; he supposed none of them had meant that much to him in the first case.

"Well, well! If it isn't Charlie Weasley!" cried a man's voice from behind him. Charlie turned, expecting to see someone who'd sat by him in Potions, maybe, or his old Herbology partner from fifth year; someone to whom he had no interest in talking, in short.

However, he was pleasantly surprised to see a muscular, sandy-haired young man with a lopsided but endearing grin. Another person he had not seen for several years: his old Quidditch teammate, Oliver Wood. Charlie grinned in return. He had always gotten along rather well with Oliver, and had recommended to McGonagall that he be made captain of the Gryffindor team once Charlie left.

The two men embraced briefly. Charlie then pulled back and stared at his former teammate. He shouted over the music, "Oliver Wood! Look at you, all grown up!" He then allowed his eyes to trail over the other man's body, fully appreciating the truth of his statement. Since Charlie had seen him last, Oliver had shot up a good foot or so, making him just a tad shorter than Charlie. His hair was longer than it had been, reaching down to his ears in a slightly disheveled manner. His features had lost all traces of their former boyishness, replaced by a strange sort of intensity that fascinated Charlie. He filled out his robes in a way that he certainly never had when he was fourteen; Charlie definitely approved of the change.

'_I bet he'd look even better without the robes on_,' whispered a treacherous voice in the back of his head. Charlie caught himself mentally nodding in agreement before the implications of what he had just thought struck him. He inwardly shook himself. He was not bothered by the fact that he was having this sort of thoughts about another man; he'd known he was gay for a while now, but he had never found anyone to whom he was really attracted; he chalked that up to living surrounded by more dragons than humans out in a foreign country. He was put off by the fact that he was having these thoughts about Oliver Wood, his former Quidditch protégé.

'_He's so young! I've known him since he was twelve_,' he mentally berated himself.

'_Ah_,' responded that same sly voice, '_but he's definitely not twelve now, is he?_'

'_Maybe not, but he's still quite a bit younger than I am!_'

'_Only a few years. He's graduated now. He's an adult. Free to do all sorts of lovely adult things..._'

'_Stop. I do not want to do anything with Oliver Wood. We were teammates. We changed together for three years. If I'd felt anything for him, I would have known it then._'

'_True_,' the voice practically purred, '_but he didn't look like __**this**__ back then, did he? Right now, I'd be more than happy to share a locker room with him. Bet he'd need help getting out of his robes too, and I do __**love**__ to be helpful_.'

'_That's enough!_'

This mental conversation took place within the blink of an eye. Charlie was still standing, grinning at Oliver, who had begun speaking again. Unfortunately, his words were drowned out by a series of high-pitched whistles and hoots from a batch of fireworks let off at a neighboring tent.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Charlie managed to shout over the din.

Oliver shook his head and tugged at Charlie's sleeve, gesturing for him to follow. They wove through the veritable maze of tents surrounding them. Eventually, they reached the outskirts of the Irish area; the volume was only slightly more bearable here. Oliver ushered Charlie into an aqua-colored two-person tent. Charlie ducked in and Oliver followed, pulling the tent door shut behind him, instantly blocking out all exterior sound. Inside, Charlie was not at all surprised to find what looked to be a small apartment, complete with kitchen, washroom, and two bedrooms.

"Take a seat, mate," said Oliver jocularly, jerking his head at the battered wooden table surrounded by three equally battered chairs residing in one corner of the kitchen. Charlie did so gratefully while Oliver hustled over to the refrigerator. "You hungry?" he called, head half inside the freezer. "We have some leftover treacle tart, if you're interested."

Charlie shook his head. "I'm not really hungry, thanks."

Oliver shrugged and shut the door before opening an adjacent cabinet. He pulled down a bottle filled with an amber-colored liquid along with a pair of glasses. "Fancy some firewhisky, then?" he queried, already pouring generous amounts in both glasses.

Charlie grinned. "Sure, why not?" He took the proffered glass as Oliver sat down. He sipped thoughtfully, eyes on Oliver all the while. Oliver did the same, looking at Charlie with one eyebrow raised. As the silence stretched and threatened to become awkward, Charlie brought up the most neutral subject he could think of: the World Cup. Thus, they were off, discussing passes and tactics, harping on foul play that the referee had missed, and arguing good-naturedly over the ethicality of certain Beater strategies implemented by the Bulgarian teams. Oliver became increasingly more animated as the conversation progressed. Charlie noted the fanatic gleam in his eyes and tried to remember if he had been this obsessed back when he was in school with Charlie. Speaking of school, Charlie was fairly certain that Oliver had graduated just last year.

"Oliver, what are you doing now that you've left Hogwarts?" questioned Charlie.

Oliver blinked, derailed from his rant on the effectiveness of backhanded swings against bludgers. He recovered quickly, eyes retaining their slightly crazed look. "I've been chosen for the Puddlemere United reserve team, actually," he said excitedly. "I leave for training a fortnight from now."

Charlie looked slightly stunned for a moment at this monumental news, but then grinned more broadly than ever. "That's fantastic, mate! I always knew you had it in you. You're one of the best bloody Keepers I've ever seen. And, from what I hear, you're a fair captain as well."

Oliver's cheeks reddened and he smiled bashfully. "Well, I learned from the best, didn't I?" he said, eyes twinkling.

'_Quidditch isn't all I could teach you, dear. I give private lessons, you know_._ We could start right now, the tent is already Silenced._'

Charlie cursed inwardly; the little voice in his head had returned. He forced himself to smile and continued talking, trying to ignore himself. "You flatter me. You're just naturally talented, Oliver."

'_And probably not just at Quidditch, either._'

Hoping to quiet the voice in his head, Charlie took a large swig of firewhisky. This was momentarily successful, but only because he was distracted by the remarkably painful burning sensation in his throat.

Oliver waved the compliment away dismissively and said, "What about you? You still working out in Romania with those dragons of yours?"

Charlie nodded, not trusting himself to speak both because he was worried of what would come tumbling out of his mouth and because he feared that the firewhisky had dissolved his vocal chords.

"Do you still play Quidditch at all?"

Charlie shook his head. Oliver clucked in distaste. Feeling the need to defend himself, Charlie said, "There's not really anyone to play with out where I am. Most wizards steer clear of the dragon reserve and we can't exactly ignore the dragons and fly off for a game; dragons have a disconcerting habit of attacking anything or anyone that invades their airspace."

Oliver made another noise of disapproval. "It's a crime, it is, keeping you from the world of Quidditch," he sighed, taking a long gulp from his glass. Then he looked back at Charlie, eyes suddenly alight with excitement. "When do you go back to Romania, mate?"

Charlie thought for a moment. "A week from next Thursday. Why?"

"Perfect," Oliver exclaimed. "How about we meet up before you go? We can play some one-on-one Quidditch and then head to a pub afterward. It'll be brilliant!"

Charlie thought this over. It _did_ sound like fun. "Alright, then. How about the Tuesday before I leave? That way, my kid siblings are back at school and I don't have to feel guilty about not spending time with them."

Oliver agreed and they began planning. They had just decided to meet up at the Leaky Cauldron and then head over to an abandoned pitch nearby that Oliver knew about when the ground shook slightly. Frowning, Oliver moved over to the entrance to the tent and pulled back the flap, intending to see what was going on outside. As soon as the flap was lifted, the Silencing Charm was broken and the sound of screaming filled the tent.


	4. Facing Off

Chapter Four: Facing Off

_August Twenty-second, 1994_

Charlie rushed over to the tent's entrance and stood with Oliver, gaping at the scene without. The festive atmosphere had completely dissolved, replaced with one of terror and panic. Everywhere, people were fleeing, most in the direction of the forest. Charlie spotted a couple of Ministry wizards heading toward what seemed to be the source of the commotion: a small band of hooded figures on the opposite side of the Irish campsite. There were a few objects hovering over their heads, but Charlie could not tell what they were from this distance. As they watched, one of the wizards in the group extended his arm and suddenly the tent at which he was pointing caught fire.

This broke Oliver and Charlie out of their reverie. They turned to face each other. "I have to go to my family," Charlie said simply.

Oliver nodded. "And I have to find my parents."

They clasped each other's forearm. "Be safe," they wished each other before hurrying off in opposite directions. Charlie made his way back to the Weasley's tents, careful to avoid the group of hooded wizards, which had grown considerably by the time he reached their campsite. He ducked into the boys' tent, where Bill and Percy were hastily donning their robes. "What's happened?" he asked them.

Both shook their heads; they had no more idea of what was going on than Charlie. Together the trio hurried out into the cold August air, pulling out their wands as they went. With a brief nod to their father and siblings, the three eldest Weasleys ran off toward the ever-expanding group of marchers. As they approached, one of the hooded figures gestured toward them and the large terraced tent to their right burst into flames. They jumped out of the way and hastened to enter the battle, where dozens of Ministry wizards, foreigners, and civilians were engaging the figures on the outside of the group.

The preceding battle soon lost all sense of reality to Charlie. He lost track of Percy as the younger man ran off to aid a colleague. Charlie and Bill began dueling with a pair that had broken off from the main group. They fought back to back, firing spells and blocking those fired in return. Bill was dueling a short figure whose high-pitched voice revealed her to be a woman. Charlie's adversary was of a medium build, rather muscular, and spoke with a deep, slightly accented voice. He heard the woman behind him give a shout as one of Bill's spells barely missed her. She turned and began to flee; Bill broke away from Charlie to give chase.

Charlie refocused himself on his opponent. The man muttered and made a slashing motion with his wand. Charlie jerked back to avoid the curse and was mildly successful. Only his shirt was damaged. He shot a stunning spell in return, and was satisfied to see it hit his target square in the chest. The man fell over and lay crumpled on the ground. Before Charlie could decide what to do next, however, another hooded wizard grabbed the first and the pair Disapparated.

Charlie swore, but quickly threw himself back into the fray. The same sequence repeated itself over and over. If he defeated one of the masked figures, another would appear and take the incapacitated one away. Every so often, he would catch sight of people he knew battling: his father, dueling with a willowy figure; Madame Hooch from Hogwarts, taking on two marchers at once; Kingsley Shacklebolt, a big bloke from the Ministry, Stunning a rather rotund fighter; Oliver Wood, aiming hex after hex at a witch who was cackling madly from behind her mask.

As Charlie watched, another figure crept up behind Oliver and the witch and aimed his wand at the former Quidditch captain. Without thinking, Charlie ducked away from his own duel and fired a spell at the man pointing his wand at Oliver. His aim was true; the man collapsed in a head before he could get off his own spell. Oliver glanced over his shoulder, momentarily distracted by the flash of light that had been Charlie's spell. He smiled briefly at Charlie before turning back to the witch, who had taken advantage of the momentary distraction to attempt another curse. Oliver deflected it and sent it back her way.

Charlie made his way over to Oliver and they fought back to back, just as he and Bill had done earlier. There was a never-ending supply of opponents; for every one they defeated, two more seemed to appear. Charlie and Oliver worked together seamlessly, occasionally rotating to help the other with his fight if he seemed in danger. This went on for what seemed like hours. It reached the point where Charlie began to fear that it would never end, that they would fight the infinite horde of faceless attackers until Judgment Day.

Eventually, the fight was interrupted by a series of screams. Charlie and Oliver ignored them and continued to fight. However, they found that their opponents were vanishing. One by one, the masked figures turned their heads up toward the sky before Disapparating hurriedly. Eventually, the battered and exhausted Ministry fighters and their allies were left alone, surrounded by smoldering tents and smoke that clung to everything within range.

Oliver turned to Charlie, panting slightly. There was a long gash running down his cheek, bleeding freely, but other than that he was unharmed. "Thanks, mate. You saved my ass more than once," he said, grasping Charlie's hand.

"You saved mine, so we're square," Charlie replied.

Oliver chuckled tiredly. "Why do you reckon they left?" he asked, glancing around at the wreckage.

Charlie shrugged, but then caught a glimpse of some of their fellow fighters, many of whom were staring up at the sky. Charlie looked up as well to see a floating, wraithlike skull with a snake protruding out of its mouth. He froze. "That's why," he whispered softly, transfixed by the sight.

Oliver followed his gaze, but looked confused rather than horrified. "What is it?"

Charlie started, then remembered that Oliver was not quite as old as he. Oliver would only have been five or so the last time it was spotted, too young to remember its significance. "It's the Dark Mark," Charlie explained. "It's the sign of You-Know-Who and his followers."

Oliver cursed quietly, clenching his fists in hatred. Charlie noticed that they were trembling slightly. He tugged slightly on the sleeve of Oliver's shirt. "We should go back," he said. "They'll be looking for us."

Oliver nodded and they made their way back toward their tents silently, each lost in thought. They parted with only a few words, each heading back toward his own family. Charlie reached the Weasleys' campsite and ducked into the boys' tent. He was relieved to find Bill and Percy there already, both relatively unhurt save for a few minor injuries. They discussed the battle and the Mark in low voices until Fred and George arrived with Ginny. Thankfully, the three of them were unharmed. Fred and George joined their discussion, filling them in on who they had seen in the woods and hearing what had gone on with the battle, while Ginny sat quietly in a chair at the corner of the table, staring unseeingly at the floor.

After a while, Charlie ducked out of the tent, intending to go looking for his father and the three missing children. However, as he prepared to leave, he heard his father's voice. Calling out to him, Charlie informed him that only half of the younger children were back. Mr. Weasley replied that he had the others. Soon enough, they came into view, all looking tired but uninjured. Charlie accompanied them back into the tent and resumed his place at the table.

Mr. Weasley told them without preamble that Barty Crouch's elf had been caught with Harry's wand at the scene of the crime. After this shocking bit of news, he went on to explain what had happened with the elf, what Death Eaters were, and what exactly the Dark Mark was. Charlie felt himself slipping into an exhausted stupor. His father's words flowed around him without really penetrating. His mind reeled over the events of the day: the World Cup, the Death Eaters' march, and, most importantly, Oliver Wood.

Charlie heard his father mention the word 'sleep' and, with a Herculean effort, managed to drag himself from the table and into his bed. As he collapsed, he felt sleep overtake him almost instantly. He slipped into comfortable blankness, too exhausted even to dream.


	5. Warmups

Chapter Five: Warm-ups

_September Second, 1994_

"Charlie, dear, are you alright? Charlie? _Charlie!_"

"Huh?" Charlie pulled himself from his trance. He forced himself into a sitting position on his bed and looked up at his mother's worried face. He blinked dazedly.

Mrs. Weasley's brow furrowed. "Are you ill, sweetie? You've not been yourself all day. Every time I look at you, you're staring off into space. Do you have a fever?"

Charlie shook his head. "I'm fine, Mum. I'm just… never mind."

Mrs. Weasley issued a small _tut_. Nevertheless, she began to exit, saying, "Well, dinner will be ready in half an hour, if you're feeling up to it."

"Actually, I won't be here for dinner. I'm going out. With a friend."

His mother whipped back around to stare at him, a manic gleam in her eye. "Really? Does this friend happen to be a girl?" Before Charlie could respond, she went on. "Is this why you've been acting so peculiar all day? Are you nervous for your date? Is she pretty? What does she do? How did you meet? Oh, wait until I tell your father, he'll be thrilled! Have you met her parents? Do…"

"MUM!" Charlie shouted, interrupting his mother's increasingly frantic questions. "I'm not going out with a girl. I'm going with an old school friend to hang out for a bit, maybe head to a bar or two," he said meekly, staring at his hands.

Mrs. Weasley tried valiantly to hide her disappointment. "Oh. Well, that sounds fun too! It's good that you're spending time with your friends." She shuffled out of the room hastily, leaving Charlie alone with his thoughts.

He attempted to calm his frenetically beating heart. It was true, what he had told his mother: He was _just_ going out with a friend, and they were _just_ going to hang out like old friends are wont to do.

'_Then why are you acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush?_' scoffed the twisted voice in the recesses of his mind.

'_I am not a schoolgirl_,' he responded wittily. He could almost hear the voice laughing at him.

'_Oh? Then why are you blushing?_'

'_I'm not!_' He was.

'_But you do have a crush, right? You're not denying it_.'

'_No, I AM denying it. I don't get stupid little crushes_.'

'_Then what would you call your feelings toward young Oliver? Because let me tell you, dearie, they are anything but platonic. Normal men don't normally fantasize about snogging their friends. Or seeing them naked. Or hearing them make those delicious noises.'_

"Stop!" Charlie cried, accidentally vocalizing his thoughts in his attempt to drown out the voice. He could almost see it grinning lasciviously. That is, if voices could grin. 

If he were being completely truthful with himself, he could not deny that he had been looking forward to this day for weeks. He also could not deny the fact that the mere thought of being in close proximity to Oliver Wood in any context made his heart rate increase exponentially. He mentally shook himself. He was completely blowing this whole affair out of proportion.

Charlie strode over to his closet and pulled out the outfit he had selected for the occasion: a set of midnight blue robes couple with a pair of pointed black dragonskin boots. For good measure, he also pulled out a pair of old Quidditch gloves. It wouldn't do to appear unprepared, after all.

He glanced at his watch. He was due to meet Oliver in five minutes. Frantic heartbeat renewed, he headed downstairs. As he passed through the kitchen, he lifted his hand in farewell to his mother. She hustled over and gave him a brief hug.

"Have a good time, dear. Do you have any idea when you'll be back? Would you like me to save some roast beef for you?"

Answering no to both questions, Charlie headed out the front door of the Burrow and toward the shed in which all of the Weasleys' old brooms were stored. He extracted the slightly battered Cleansweep Five he had been using in his scrimmages with his brothers and Harry from the pile, then stepped back into the open air. The sun was just beginning to sink past the horizon, casting an orange glow across the Burrow and its surrounding garden. Basking in the warmth of the sun's evening light, Charlie sighed happily, unable to keep from grinning. Still smiling and holding his broomstick, he twisted abruptly and Disapparated, leaving the garden empty save for a handful of gnomes and an escaped chicken.

Charlie appeared suddenly in the yard behind a dingy little building. He turned around and strolled through the back door of the Leaky Cauldron, which was doing rather well for a Tuesday night. There was a party of foreign wizards seated at the table nearest the door, chatting in what Charlie though was Albanian but could just as easily have been Armenian. At the bar, a handful of witches sat giggling and chatting with Tom the barkeeper. A few more witches and wizards were scattered about alone or in small groups, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and a glass or two of firewhiskey.

What caught Charlie's eye, however, was the man sitting in a booth nestled in the front corner of the bar, gazing wistfully out the window. Oliver Wood was dressed in a loose-fitting ivory tunic and a pair of dark breeches, a cloak draped casually over his shoulders. His sandy hair was slightly ruffled, as if it sensed the upcoming activities and had decided to stay ahead of the game. Charlie paused for a moment and drank in the sight, memorizing every detail of Oliver's appearance. He would be perfectly content to stand there forever, just watching the peaceful expression that lit up Oliver's face and magnified its beauty until it practically shone. Charlie felt his heart flutter in his chest and blushed. Forcing himself to stop ogling, he moved forward and joined Oliver at the table. "Evening, stranger," he greeted.

Oliver smiled and shifted his broomstick and bag so Charlie could sit across from him. "Hello, Charlie. You look great. Are you ready to go, or do you want to get something to eat first?"

With great effort, Charlie managed to keep himself from blushing foolishly at the offhanded compliment and focused on the rest of the question. "I'm not really hungry," he replied. That was true; the traitorous, malevolent butterflies in his stomach had declared war on any sort of food.

"That's okay. We can head back here after we play for a drink and a bite to eat. Shall we then?"

They rose out of their booth, grabbed their brooms, and exited the Leaky Cauldron through the door that led to Diagon Alley; they couldn't Apparate in such a crowded room, and it wouldn't do to disappear from the middle of the Muggle street out the front door of the pub.

"The field is a few miles to the south. The ground's overgrown, but the goals are still standing and there are a few lingering protections so we can fly without worrying about Muggles," Oliver explained. He took Charlie's hand. Charlie tried to ignore the warm, tingling sensation that appeared there as Oliver twisted and the yard of the pub disintegrated, replaced by a large green stretch of land covered in weeds and wildflowers, surrounded by a sparse forest. The pitch glowed with a light independent of the sun's rays, obviously an enchantment to allow practice at all hours, if the players deemed it necessary.

Much to Charlie's disappointment, Oliver pulled away and began rummaging through his bag. He pulled out a bright red Quaffle and said, "Since we only have two players, I thought we could start by taking turns as Keeper and Chaser. How about we switch after whoever's playing Chaser scores ten times?"

Charlie snorted. "You're a professional Keeper, and I've never been a spectacular Chaser anyway. I say we switch after the Keeper saves ten shots. That way, I won't have to fly around all night trying to get the Quaffle past you." Oliver agreed and they took to the air, Charlie clutching the ball as Oliver took up position at the center goalpost at the far end of the field.

Over the past week, he had played several mock matches with his brothers and Harry in the abandoned field by The Burrow. He was now incredibly glad that he had done so. It was probably the only thing keeping him from making an utter fool of himself; he hadn't played for years. There weren't enough dragon keepers to play with back in Romania, and dragons were poor sports, preferring to spew fire at their opponents rather than try to score or catch the Snitch.

The first shot went just about as well as Charlie had expected. He sped down the field toward the goalposts, feigned left, then chucked the Quaffle with all his might toward the right hoop. Oliver, without missing a beat, drifted over almost lazily and caught the ball as easily as if Charlie had passed it to him. Grinning cheekily, he tossed it back and Charlie retreated to formulate a new strategy.

Shots two through six ended in about the same manner as the first, but Charlie actually managed to score on the seventh shot after pulling off a rather tricky dive-and-roll maneuver. Elated though he was at the goal, Charlie had a sneaking suspicion that Oliver had allowed him to score. This suspicion grew as Oliver easily blocked four more shots, Charlie not even getting close to a second goal.

With ten blocks on Oliver's part, they switched places. Charlie hovered in front of the middle post, not feeling the least bit confident. Even when he had played Quidditch regularly, at home and at school, he had rarely been Keeper. He was the Gryffindor Seeker, and Bill or Ron always played Keeper at the Burrow. However, playing Chaser was not Oliver's specialty either, and Charlie was pleased to find that they were evenly matched. Oliver scored twice, but Charlie succeeded in blocking his third shot, stretching out and kicking the Quaffle away from the goalposts, sending it soaring toward the middle of the field. I The remainder of Charlie's turn as Keeper proceeded in that fashion: A goal for Oliver, then two blocks from Charlie; three goals, followed by a block; two goals, another two blocks; a goal, then another block; a block that sent the Quaffle into the surrounding woods, then a pause as Oliver went to retrieve it; and two final blocks after an impressive goal from midfield.

Winded but exhilarated, they touched down after Charlie's turn ended. Oliver's cheeks were flushed with adrenaline, Charlie noticed. After a couple of deep breaths and a swallow of water from the canteen in Oliver's bag, Charlie asked, "So do we start over now? Or would you like to go back to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink?"

"Not quite yet. I have one more game for us to play," he said, pulling a small box out of the front pocket of the pack. Charlie eyed it curiously. Oliver smiled excitedly before opening the lid to reveal an etched golden ball strapped inside. Eyes shining with wistfulness, Charlie reached out and clasped the ball gently while undoing the latch. Holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger, he brought it close to his face and watched as tiny silver wings unfurled from its sides, fluttering anxiously.

"I haven't played with one of these in years," he muttered in awe. Oliver's smile widened as he plucked the Snitch from Charlie's fingers.

"I thought you hadn't. Figured this would be a nice treat for you. I nicked it from our practice supplies, but no one will notice it's gone until tomorrow afternoon." Oliver settled back onto his broomstick, one hand still clasped around the Snitch. "Right then. Let's see if you're still as great a Seeker as you used to be."

With that, he released the Snitch and it immediately darted off and out of sight. Charlie and Oliver gave it a few moments' head start, then rose into the air and began their search. It was unlike any hunt for the Snitch that Charlie had ever made. There were no Bludgers trying to knock his brains out, no other players darting in and out of his line of sight, and no screeching commentary in the background. It was simply him and Oliver, soaring to and fro and trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive little ball.

After two minutes of searching, Charlie spotted the Snitch floating low to the ground near the center of the field. He swooped down and caught it before Oliver could react. Laughing, he flew in a loop before glancing toward Oliver, who indicated that he should free the Snitch so they could start again. Charlie did so, waiting for it to fly away before tearing off after it, again on the lookout. He captured the Snitch thrice more before realizing that Oliver was not even trying anymore; the younger man was just hanging in midair, smiling contentedly, watching Charlie dart and dive all around the pitch.

Charlie released and reacquired the Snitch one last time before motioning to Oliver that they should land. Upon doing so, Charlie pressed the Snitch into Oliver's hand, waiting as the other man returned it to its box. Charlie then said, beaming widely, "That was wonderful, Oliver. Thank you so much, seriously."

Oliver slipped the box back into his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. "Time for drinks, then?" Charlie nodded in approval and they turned simultaneously, leaving the Quidditch pitch suddenly empty and abandoned once more. Upon arriving back in the yard at the rear of the Leaky Cauldron, Charlie noticed with a start that the sun had set completely, leaving the sky the deep blue of twilight. They had played for longer than he realized. Easing open the door to the pub, Charlie saw that it was even more crowded than it had been earlier. The witches at the bar had been joined by a gaggle of young wizards who were now attempting to cajole their ways into the witches' good graces. The size of the group of foreign wizards had also increased, he noticed. Sundry other individuals filled in the gaps, including a pair of goblins, a woman with curly, bleached blond hair, and a vampire nursing a goblet of suspiciously dark liquid. Charlie shuddered; vampires always creeped him out.

Luckily, there was a small table by the end of the bar –and away from the vampire, Charlie noted thankfully– just the right size for two people. He and Oliver made their way over with some difficulty and sat down, grateful for a chance to rest. As soon as they took their seats, Tom the bartender materialized. "May I take your order, gentlemen?" he asked, bowing slightly.

"I'll have a gin and tonic, if you please," responded Oliver. Charlie ordered the same, and the elderly man whisked away as quickly as he had come. They sat in comfortable silence until their drinks arrived. Charlie sipped his slowly, wondering how to proceed. He decided to start with a fairly innocuous topic.

"So how's your family these days, Oliver? Is your mum still working for the Department of Magical Games and Sports?"

Oliver nodded and swallowed his mouthful of gin. "My parents are both fine. My mum's still working, but my dad is getting ready to retire. Says he wants to travel the world. Mum's not having it, though. She told him that they'll be traveling enough just to visit me while I'm on tour. Plus, we were just in Spain last week."

"Really? What for?"

"My cousin Jenny got married to some Spanish bloke. The service was in Spanish, of course; I had no idea what was going on the entire ceremony. But the reception was a blast, and I saw some family members that I haven't seen in years. Blimey, it's weird, seeing all my little cousins grown up. I remember when they were in diapers, and now they're strutting around as teenagers, some with boyfriends or girlfriends in tow. It makes me feel old, it does."

"Don't be so dramatic, Oliver. I'm even older than you are, so you've no right to complain. And as for your cousins' girlfriends, I seem to remember you having quite a following of birds back at Hogwarts." Oliver's cheeks reddened slightly and he hastily took a gulp of his drink. Feeling slightly masochistic, Charlie waited until Oliver had set his glass down before continuing. "I bet you've got a pretty little thing waiting for you back home, haven't you, Oliver?"

To Charlie's surprise, the redness on Oliver's face deepened as he muttered an unintelligible response before knocking back his gin once again. Charlie frowned in confusion. "Sorry, what was that, mate? I missed it."

"I haven't got a girlfriend." Oliver was now precisely the same shade as the Quaffle sitting in the bag beside him.

Charlie felt his heart lift at this news. "Well, I wouldn't worry about it. I haven't got one either." This seemed to hearten Oliver considerably, and they resumed their conversation about family eagerly. Charlie regaled Oliver with tales of Percy, Fred, and George in their younger years, and Oliver in return offered up all of the rumors circulating the younger Weasleys at school. Their drinks remained eternally full, thanks to the enchantment put upon them. All in all, the evening was turning out rather well.

The conversation turned to Oliver's upcoming career as a professional Quidditch player. His enthusiasm for the game had not lessened over the years, Charlie noticed. They had begun practicing several weeks ago, with Oliver Apparating between the training fields and his apartment as necessary. Oliver pulled out a photograph of the team to show Charlie. In the picture were fourteen witches and wizards, both the main and reserve teams, clad in navy colored robes and waving genially at him. They each held a polished mahogany broomstick. Charlie eyed them curiously. "What sort of brooms do you guys have, mate? I haven't seen them before."

"They're the new Nimbus 2002 line. They don't quite measure up to the Firebolt, but they're pretty brilliant," said Oliver, beaming proudly. "I wish I could've brought mine for you to see tonight, but the captain keeps them under lock and key."

"Too bad. Maybe some other time, though."

"Yeah. Maybe you could come out after practice one day. You could ride it, if you want."

Charlie fought determinedly to keep his mind from straying at the suggestion of 'riding.' Thankfully, Oliver unknowingly rescued him from himself by questioning him about the dragons in Romania. They discussed the fire-breathing beasties for several minutes before Charlie noticed that Oliver's speech was rather slurred. Charlie was never big on drinking, so he rarely drank heavily enough for it to greatly impact him. However, he was not sure that the same could be said for Oliver. The younger man was beginning to sway slightly in his seat, which was never a good sign.

"Oliver, mate, how much have you had to drink? You're acting a little wonky."

"I dunno. A few glasses, maybe? I'm fine though, promise. It's just that I don't normally go out drinking because it's a really bad idea during training, so I might drink a bit more than I should when I have the chance." Or that was what Charlie was fairly certain that he had said, but it was made almost incoherent by slurring.

Charlie sighed. "Okay, I think you've had enough." He stood up and eased Oliver to his feet as well, pausing to deposit a handful of coins on the table before half guiding, half dragging Oliver to the door. Emerging into the cool night air, Charlie briefly pondered what to do. He didn't know where Oliver lived, and letting Oliver Apparate himself home would undoubtedly end terribly. Charlie could only see one solution.

"Oliver, I'm going to take you home with me tonight, okay?"

Oliver giggled, then nodded. Trying not to think of all the reasons why this was a horrible idea, Charlie spun around, the yard fading into his familiar bedroom. He winced slightly at the cracking sound his Apparation had made and prayed that his mother would not come knocking. He led Oliver over to Bill's old bed. "You can sleep here, alright?"

Teetering, Oliver peered at the bed and then at Charlie. He stumbled forward, somehow getting twisted up in Charlie's arm in the process. Oliver ended up lying on top of the bed with a bewildered Charlie half on top of him. Oliver merely blinked. Then, he smiled and reached up and swept a stray piece of hair out of Charlie's face. "You have really pretty eyes," he giggled sleepily, letting his hand fall back to his side.

Charlie stammered and blushed and hurriedly pulled himself away, but Oliver was already drifting off to sleep. Charlie shook his head and walked dazedly over to his own bed, resigned to a sleepless night and a brain full of unsettling thoughts.


End file.
